We went last night to see the Fantoccini, where we had infinite entertainment from the performance of a little comedy in French and Italian, by puppets, so admirably managed, that they both astonished and diverted us all, except the Captain, who has a fixed and most prejudiced hatred of whatever is not English.
When it was over, while we waited for the coach, a tall elderly woman brushed quickly past us, calling out, “My God, what shall I do?”
“Why, what would you do?” cried the Captain.
“Ma foi, Monsieur,” answered she, “I have lost my company, and in this place I don’t know nobody.”
There was something foreign in her accent, though it was difficult to discover whether she was an English or a French woman. She was very well dressed; and seemed so entirely at a loss what to do, that Mrs. Mirvan proposed to the Captain to assist her.
“Assist her!” cried he, “ay, with all my heart;-let a link-boy call her a coach.”
There was not one to be had, and it rained very fast.
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed the stranger, “what shall become of me? Je suis au desespoir!”
“Dear Sir,” cried Miss Mirvan, “pray let us take the poor lady into our coach. She is quite alone, and a foreigner-”
“She’s never the better for that,” answered he: “she may be a woman of the town, for anything you know.”